


The Sun is Low

by GotTheSilver



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 14:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11210067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: Zach turns forty and his world changes.  Or, maybe, it circles back to where it was always meant to be.*Zach spots him as soon as he steps in the cafe; sitting with his back to the wall, a mug of coffee that Zach knows has been refilled at least twice by the way Chris’ leg is slightly jittery, and a moleskine on the table, hand moving in a steady rhythm as he scribbles something down.“Hi,” Zach says once he’s by the table, casting a shadow over Chris.  He tries not to think about the symbolism in that.





	The Sun is Low

**Author's Note:**

> don't ask me, I thought of a specific scene in this fic and then words happened. enablers know exactly who they are.
> 
> there's so much pretentious introspection in this, I'm so sorry.
> 
> blah blah obviously none of this happened, etc.
> 
> [on tumblr](http://motleywolf.tumblr.com/post/161866006577/fic-the-sun-is-low-chris-pinezach-quinto)

Zach wakes up surprisingly not hungover, but with a mug of coffee by the bed and a note propped up against it. Grabbing the mug first, he sits up, noting that the other side of the bed is cold, but that the coffee is warm, and reaches for the paper. Quickly scanning it, Zach takes a gulp of coffee and puts the mug back on the bedside table. Picking up his phone, he sends a quick text to the one person he probably shouldn’t see today, but then, no one said once you turn forty you stop making bad decisions.

The dogs greet him enthusiastically when he comes out of the bedroom, clad in a pair of yoga pants and nothing else. The place is quiet, but he sits on the floor with the dogs, leaning against the wall as they nose around him, trying to work out if their presence is welcome. “Come here,” he says to Skunk, holding his hand out. After a sniff, Skunk’s clambering into his lap, paw coming dangerously close to getting Zach in the nuts. Rocco’s a little more dignified, resting his head on Zach’s thigh. “Sorry, kids,” he says quietly. “Didn’t mean to drive Miles away. Here’s a tip, drunken conversations about where you want a relationship to go after four years? Not advisable.”

Rocco licks his hand, and Zach wonders what kind of pathetic picture he makes, sitting on the floor with only his dogs for company. His phone buzzes, interrupting his sad contemplations and he picks it up, seeing that Chris has responded. Looking down at Skunk, Zach shakes his head. “I don’t need you to tell me this is a bad idea.”

Because it is, probably. Certainly. Chris has always been the one person, aside from Zach’s mom, who can see through his bullshit, and so seeing him on a day like today probably isn’t the smartest choice he’s ever made. The argument the other side of him says is that he and Chris have been living on opposite coasts for way too long, and if he’s got a chance to spend some time with him, Zach’s going to take it.

Lifting up an arm, Zach sniffs himself and recoils. Shower. He’ll spend time with Chris after a shower.

*

By the time he makes it out, he’s already running late, and Chris is waiting. Zach spots him as soon as he steps in the cafe; sitting with his back to the wall, a mug of coffee that Zach knows has been refilled at least twice by the way Chris’ leg is slightly jittery, and a moleskine on the table, hand moving in a steady rhythm as he scribbles something down.

“Hi,” Zach says once he’s by the table, casting a shadow over Chris. He tries not to think about the symbolism in that.

“Hi, yourself,” Chris says, closing his moleskine and putting it next to him on the bench seat. “You going to sit down, or just lurk like a creeper?”

A flush covers Zach’s cheeks, instantly irritating him because he thought he’d got over that. “Yeah, yes.” As soon as he sits down, the waitress comes over, he orders an iced coffee and asks for a moment to look at the food menu. “You can order if you want,” he says to Chris. “I’m sure your stomach is on the verge of eating itself by now.”

“I had something at the hotel before I left,” Chris says with a grin at the waitress. “Give us a minute, sweetheart, thanks.”

Zach watches the interaction, intrigued by it; it’s not that Chris can’t be charming, he is, by nature a charming person unless you catch him on a bad day. Zach’s never seen him turn it on so effortlessly before, and the more Zach looks at Chris, the more he can see how comfortable he looks in himself. He’s not hiding behind a cap and sunglasses, ready to shout obscenities at anyone he thinks is aiming a camera at him, he’s not looking around nervously at who might try and approach him. Chris is relaxed, eyes brighter than usual, and it makes something inside Zach ache.

“You going to look at the menu, or do you want me to order for you? Because the waffles here, man, they’re like—” Chris makes a noise that Zach is sure he shouldn’t be allowed to make in public. “Seriously,” he says. “Get the waffles.”

“Well after that, I don’t see how I can’t,” Zach says, scanning the menu for them. “What do you get with them?”

“Everything I can.”

“I thought you were doing a new workout regime?” Zach asks. “Swinging clubs around or something.”

“Way to make me sound like a caveman, thanks,” Chris laughs. “What’s the point in working so hard if I can’t have waffles?”

“Fair point.”

They both order waffles—Chris with vanilla ice cream, salted caramel syrup and chocolate sprinkles, Zach with blueberries, green tea ice cream, and honeycomb pieces—and lapse into silence once the waitress has gone.

“Thanks,” Zach says, needing to break the silence. “For coming to my birthday party.” He winces internally at how much he sounds like a needy child.

“Wouldn’t miss you finally turning forty,” Chris says. “Or, I would’ve, but the London trip was cancelled, so it made sense to stick around. Tell Miles thanks for the invite.”

“He invited you?”

“Yeah,” Chris says, frowning at Zach. “You thought I just knew to turn up?”

“I guess I never thought about it,” Zach says quietly. “Miles didn’t tell me that he—anyway. You had a good time, right?”

“Yeah. Good people, good food, what’s not to enjoy?” Chris takes a drink of his coffee. “You enjoy yourself? It was your birthday.”

Zach shrugs, sitting back in his chair, not meeting Chris’ eyes. “The party was great.”

“Okay,” Chris says, in that irritating way he’s learnt from his mom and sister, giving someone just enough space to say what they’re feeling. Zach’s been in therapy long enough to recognise it.

“Don’t do that,” he says, grabbing his drink and wrapping his mouth around the straw, sucking on the coffee to give himself time to think before he has to respond. “It’s not—the party was great, the after party was great, the next day was great, and then I made the mistake of talking to Miles while I was drunk.”

Chris raises an eyebrow. “And that didn’t go well for you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Hey, man, you brought it up, I was just trying—” Chris stops talking when the waitress brings their waffles, and Zach feels his eyes widen at the amount of food in front of him. “Look,” Chris continues when she’s walked away. “If you don’t want to talk about it, then that’s fine. Eat your damn waffle.”

Zach can’t do anything but listen to him.

*

An hour later and they’re still sitting there, both of them having finished their waffles and suffering the after effects of eating that much sugar, Zach trying not to think about how much his trainer is going to beat him up for it.

“So,” Chris says, hand resting on his stomach as he looks at Zach. “What happened to kids before forty?”

“You’re going for the jugular today, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry, I thought we were friends.”

“Yeah,” Zach says, looking down at his almost empty iced coffee, the way Chris says that getting to him a little. “We are. Uh, Miles isn’t interested in—”

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Chris groans.

“What? It’s not like it was a concrete plan,” Zach says defensively, looking across the table at Chris. “It was, yes I think I’d like kids before I’m forty. There wasn’t anything set in stone.” Chris doesn’t say anything as Zach stares at him, but there’s a challenge in his eyes that Zach knows from experience, says he’s not going to drop this.

“Do you still want it? Kids? A family?”

“I—”

“Zach,” Chris says softly. “Don’t bullshit me.”

“What do you want me to say here?” Zach blurts out. “Miles didn’t say no forever, just—not right now.”

“You’re not getting any younger.”

“I’m aware, thanks.”

They fall quiet again, Chris gets another refill before looking at Zach. “I just want you to be happy, you get that, right?”

“Not everyone gets the picture perfect ending, Christopher.”

“Why are you—” Chris breaks off, a frustrated frown on his face as he hunches over his coffee, and Zach hates that he can see the gulf between them widening as they talk. “Look,” Chris says, meeting Zach’s eyes. “I know you love him, Zach, but you need to love yourself more.”

“Because you’re such an expert,” Zach bites out. “Remind me how many years it’s been since you had a long term relationship?”

“Aside from you, you mean?” Chris stands up and takes his wallet out, throwing forty bucks on the table. “You can try and turn this back to me, Zach, but at least I’m happy. Call me when you’re sick of being someone’s sugar daddy.”

The words hit Zach harder than he’d like as he watches Chris go; he wants to call after him, chase him down, but he’s not going to give Chris that satisfaction. It’s not even factually accurate, Zach thinks to himself as he settles the check, Miles has his own successful career, Zach is no one’s goddamn sugar daddy.

Heading out of the cafe, Zack starts walking in no particular direction; he knew it wasn’t a good idea to meet up with Chris today, not after last night. Zach wonders if there’s such a thing as a delayed hangover, because his head is suddenly pounding and all he wants to do is go home and curl up with the dogs. He’s being dramatic, and he knows it, but fuck it, somehow turning forty has co-incided with managing to drive away two of the most important people in his life, Zach thinks he’s entitled to be a little dramatic.

*

When Zach gets back home, there’s no one but the animals there, and, in deference to the fact that it’s still light outside, he slumps on the couch instead of going to his bedroom. The dogs ignore him, and in his misery, Zach can’t blame them. Switching the television on, he flicks to TLC, letting whatever mindless marathon of reality tv melt his brain.

He must drift off because he’s woken up by the buzz of his phone against his hip. Flailing around, he dislodges Skunk from his lap and suffers the glare aimed at him. Looking at the screen, Zach doesn’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed that it’s not Miles calling him. He also doesn’t know whether he should answer it or not. Finally, he gives in.

“Hi,” he says quietly, voice rough with sleep.

“I’m an asshole,” Chris says down the line. “And I’m not sorry.”

“Okay.”

“I didn’t—the sugar daddy thing was harsh, that I _am_ sorry about,” Chris says in a rush. “The rest of it I’m not sorry about.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Zach says, looking at his watch and realising he should take the dogs out for a walk. Sitting forward, he switches the television off. “Do you want me to say you’re right?”

“No, fuck, Zach I just—I want you to be happy,” Chris says. “And you don’t seem to be able to tell me that you are.”

Zach rubs the heel of his hand against his eyes. “I don’t—I love him,” Zach says, hating the way he can hear his voice break. “But he doesn’t want what I want. It’s been four years, Chris, and I don’t know if that’s ever going to change. _Fuck_ why am I crying?”

“Zach, I can’t fix your relationship for you,” Chris says. “I’m an asshole, you know that, and when it comes to this I—”

“Don’t,” Zach interrupts. “I can’t deal with that, and I’m not asking you to—” Zach breaks off, taking a breath. “I need a friend.”

Chris is quiet for a moment, Zach can hear city noise in the background, and he wonders if Chris is having this conversation in public, or if he’s in his hotel room with the window open. “Do you want me to come over?” Chris asks, finally.

“Yes.”

“I’m too fucking old for this,” Chris mutters, followed by a sigh. “Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

There’s silence and Zach realises Chris has hung up. “Well,” he says to Skunk and Rocco. “Walk?”

*

Chris is sitting outside the door when Zach makes it back; Skunk immediately tugs at his leash, wanting to go and greet Chris, looking up at Zach with a pleading face. Giving in, Zach reaches down and unclips the lead, a smile faintly on his face when Skunk clambers into Chris’ lap, trying to lick his face. “He missed you,” Zach says as he reaches around Chris to open the door.

“Yeah,” Chris says, standing up with Skunk in his arms. “Feeling’s mutual.”

Zach walks inside, knowing that Chris will follow; he unclips Rocco and hangs the leashes up before checking they both have enough water in their bowls. Leaning against the wall, he watches Chris bring Skunk in and head over to the couch, sitting down and letting Skunk settle on his lap. “Are you hungry?” Zach asks, not moving from the wall, nor taking his eyes off Chris. Without Miles being here, Zach can’t help feeling he’s doing something illicit, that he never should’ve told Chris to come over, but now Chris is here, Zach doesn’t want him to leave.

“Got popcorn?” Chris asks. “I had a disgustingly healthy dinner earlier, and I definitely need something to offset that.”

“Uh. Yeah, probably.” Zach pushes off the wall and goes into the kitchen, rummaging in the cupboards. He’s sure there’s popcorn in there, some flavour that anyone else would call ridiculously hipster, but that he knows Chris will just accept without much of a comment. Zach’s so caught up in trying to find the popcorn, he doesn’t hear Chris coming into the kitchen, and the sudden sound of the fridge being opened makes him jump.

“Jesus, Zach,” Chris says, holding up his hands, two beers that he’s taken from the fridge in them. “It’s just me.”

“Sorry.”

Chris puts the beer bottles on the counter and takes a couple steps closer to Zach until he’s so close, Zach can see the slight reddening of his skin from being out in the sun. He wonders if Chris forgot to put sunscreen on, or if it washed off in the shower Zach can tell he had earlier and he didn’t reapply it before coming to see Zach. “You’re really not okay, are you?” Chris says, more of a statement than a question.

“Midlife crisis?” Zach says, only partly joking. The corners of Chris’ eyes crinkle as he smiles, and Zach viciously stomps down the desire to touch them, to run his fingers across Chris’ face, feel Chris’ stubble against his fingertips, and—fuck. Zach turns away from Chris, resting his hands against the sink. “Maybe it was a mistake, asking you to come here.”

“Zach, what the fuck?” Chris’ hand presses against Zach’s back between his shoulderblades, and it’s all Zach can do not to fall back into the touch. “Look, at the cafe I was ragging on you, but now I’m actually worried.”

The noise Zach lets out is somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and at any other time he’d feel fucking embarrassed at it, but somehow he’s reached the point where he’s just trying to keep his shit together. He’s failing, he knows he’s failing, and of course Chris is the person here while it’s happening. “Fuck,” he breathes out. Chris’ hand has slid down to the small of Zach’s back, and his fingers are like a fire against Zach’s body. Turning back around to face Chris, dislodging his hand in the process, Zach shrugs. “I really don’t know what’s happening.”

Looking over at the beer bottles before looking back at Zach, Chris raises an eyebrow. “Where’s your whiskey?” he asks, and Zach thinks that’s the best idea he’s heard all day.

*

Zach gets two measures of the Jameson Gold Reserve that Chris bought him several years ago down his throat before he even tries to explain what’s happening. Chris doesn’t push, doesn’t ask him anything, just sits on the couch with him, back against the armrest, cradling his own glass and staring at Zach intently. “You’re not psychic,” Zach says around the rim of his glass. “You’re not going to read my mind by staring at me.”

“I might be able to,” Chris says, sticking his foot out and kicking Zach in the thigh. “I could’ve developed powers while you’ve been on the wrong coast.”

“I doubt it.”

“Then you’re going to have to talk to me, aren’t you?”

And fuck Chris for trapping him like that. The smug smile on Chris’ face says he knows exactly what Zach’s thinking and that he doesn’t care. “Goddamn you, Pine.”

“Start with why Miles isn’t here,” Chris says, picking up the bottle and pouring himself some more whiskey. “Then maybe I’ll reward you with some more of this.”

Zach drains the rest of his glass and looks over at Chris. “He’s staying with some friends,” he says. “Left me a note, and coffee, this morning, said that—” Zach swallows around the lump in his throat. “That we needed some time apart to think about if we still want to be in this relationship.”

“And do you?”

“That’s not an easy question to answer and you know it,” Zach says, holding out his glass for Chris to refill, grateful when Chris does it without protest. “I love him.”

“But?”

Zach groans and takes a sip of his drink. “ _But_ , I don’t know if it’s enough anymore. That feels fucking shitty to say, by the way.”

Chris stretches his arm along the back of the couch, fingers tapping against the cushions. “If it’s how you feel, then—”

“Spare me the analysis. Blah blah, my feelings are valid, blah blah.”

“Your eloquence is, as ever, astounding.”

Zach sticks his tongue out at Chris before slumping further into the couch, his legs spreading as he does until his thigh butts up against Chris’ foot. “I don’t know what to do,” he says quietly, watching Rocco sleeping on the floor, his soft snuffles filling the silence. “I love him, but it’s not—I don’t think it’s working anymore. And I think he knows it as well.”

“Miles is pretty smart,” Chris says in an even tone. “I think he wouldn’t leave if he wasn’t thinking the same thing as you.”

“Yeah.” Zach looks at the glass in his hand, blinking furiously against the tears he can feel coming. “I should, uh, I should call him.”

“Hey, hey.” There’s movement on the couch, and then Chris’ hand is on Zach’s shoulder. “Tomorrow, okay?” Chris is staring at him, and Zach looks right back at him, forgetting what he was thinking about.

“Tomorrow for—”

“You can call Miles tomorrow,” Chris says. “I don’t think he’d be too happy with you calling him right now. You need some sleep.”

Zach nods as Chris’ hand drops from his shoulder. “You’re staying, right?”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Chris asks softly, and no, Zach thinks it’s a terrible idea, but he doesn’t care right now.

“Stay.”

*

Sleeping in the same bed as Chris isn’t new to Zach; over the past decade, they’ve fallen into bed in a myriad of different ways, and throughout the years Chris has never been anything but a perfect bed partner.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” Chris says, looking at the pile of things Miles has left on his bedside table. “Zach, I—I should just sleep on the couch, or—”

“Get in the bed,” Zach says, tugging the blankets back. “Chris, please, it’s not like we’re going to fuck.”

Chris laughs, and Zach can hear a small note of hysteria in it. “What if Miles comes home?”

Zach rolls his eyes and turns onto his side. “The dogs will make noise and you can hide in the closet if you want, but he—”

“What?”

“He knows you’re an exception,” Zach says quietly, looking at the empty space in the bed next to him, knowing who he thinks _should_ be there, but slowly realising that the person he _wants_ there is standing by the bed, arms crossed over his chest and staring at Zach. “You know Miles and I aren’t monogamous.”

“I know, believe me, I know, but that’s—God, we shouldn’t be talking about this now.” Chris shakes his head and gets in the bed, tugging the blankets up around him and turning on his side to face Zach. “This isn’t the time, Zachary,” he says, reaching out and tapping Zach’s cheek with his fingertips.

Zach grabs Chris’ fingers before he can move away and brings them to his mouth, kissing them softly before letting go. “It wouldn’t be the same with you,” Zach says, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. “I wouldn’t want to share you.”

“Good,” Chris says, tucking his hand back under the blankets. “I wouldn’t share you either. Not now.”

*

This time, when Zach wakes up, there’s no coffee and no note by the side of his bed, but there is Chris in bed with him, still asleep. Picking up his phone, Zach blinks, seeing a message from Miles saying he’s going to be gone another week. “Long enough for me to go to LA for work,” Zach mumbles. “Great.”

Chris’ face is slack, mouth slightly parted as he sleeps; the morning light slipping through the crack in the curtains and falling over his skin. Zach’s staring, he knows he’s staring, and if Chris wakes up, he’s going to be caught, but he doesn’t care. His hands itch to touch Chris, to run his fingers over his head, laugh at Chris for his ridiculous decision to shave all his hair off for no real reason aside from being bored.

“Stop staring at me,” Chris says, without opening his eyes.

“What would you have done if you’d had a weird shaped head?” Zach responds.

“What the fuck?” Chris’ eyes open, humour in them behind the early morning sleepiness.

“It’s a valid question,” Zach says, reaching out and splaying his palm on the top of Chris’ head, feeling the bristles against his skin. “You would’ve looked so stupid.”

“Are you still drunk?”

“Sadly, no.” Zach moves his hand away and rolls onto his back. “I need to call Miles.”

“Can we get coffee first?” Chris says, stretching his arms over his head. “And food, man, I need to eat.”

“Shocker.”

“Now, Zachary,” Chris says, getting out of bed and peeking through the curtains. “You knew who I was when we became life partners, get over it.”

“Oh God,” Zach groans. “Go and shower, I’m taking the dogs for a walk.”

Surprisingly, Chris obeys, and Zach watches him walk off, a strange feeling in his stomach when he hears the door to the bathroom close behind him. Picking up his phone, he texts Miles, asking if he can call him later, and Zach absolutely hates the way it feels like they’re strangers. Four years and now—his melancholy thoughts are interrupted by a whine coming from Rocco, and Zach rubs his face, swinging his legs around until he’s sitting up. Grabbing some sweatpants and slipping his feet into a pair of flip flops, he walks out of the bedroom, an involuntary smile appearing when he sees the dogs waiting patiently for him.

“Come on,” he calls as he collects the accoutrements needed for a morning walk and attaches their leashes.

There’s something almost meditative about early morning walks with the dogs; Zach’s convinced he could do it in his sleep, is fairly sure he has before. He exchanges nods with other dog owners, picks up the poop, lets the dogs stop and sniff whatever they want, but there’s an underlying need to get back home, back to Chris. Zach doesn’t cut the walk short, but he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t find himself somewhat impatient as the walk carries on.

When they get back, Chris is out of the shower, wearing the same jeans he was wearing yesterday, but having stolen a t-shirt from Zach’s wardrobe; he’s barefooted and browsing Zach’s bookshelves with a concentrated frown. Zach’s blown away by how much he wants to kiss him.

“Hey,” Chris says, aiming a smile at Zach. “You’re home.”

“Uh, yeah.” Zach unclips the leashes and lets the dogs wander off while he slips out of his flip flops and walks over to Chris. “Judging my books?”

“Always.”

“Ready to eat?”

“Again, always.”

“I don’t know why I even asked,” Zach says, finally returning Chris’ smile.

“It does seem unusually stupid of you,” Chris says. “I need to go by the Bowery, do you want to eat there?”

Zach shrugs. “Whatever, we can grab coffee on the way.”

“Okay, so, next question, am I checking out of my hotel? If you want me here, then I’ll pack up and be here, but—”

“Yes,” Zach says before he can re-think it, and it’s worth it to see Chris’ shoulders relax. “Miles is staying with friends until I go to LA to start shooting, so. Yes, stay, please.”

*

By the time they settle into a table at the Bowery, Chris’ bags being kept for him to pick up when they’ve finished dining, Zach is already feeling more relaxed than he has done for days. There’s a familiarity to it, sharing a meal with Chris, easy conversation and lapsing into silences that don’t feel awkward. Looking around, Zach soaks in the atmosphere of summer in the city; he’ll be in LA until filming is done, and he’s not sure how he feels about it. There’s a lead weight in his stomach knowing that by the time he gets back, there’s a good chance Miles will be gone, will have removed everything from the home they share, and—Zach’s knocked out of his thoughts by Chris’ foot kicking lightly against his leg.

“I lose you?”

“No, I—” Zach shakes his head, a wry laugh escaping his mouth. “Yeah, you lost me. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Chris says, finishing up his granola. “You’re going through a lot.”

“I’m having a midlife crisis,” Zach says with a roll of his eyes. “It’s not that dramatic.”

“I don’t actually think you’re old enough to have a midlife crisis, this is just a regular crisis.”

“Thanks,” Zach says, holding his fork up long enough that a peach slips off it. “That really helps a lot.”

“You’re the one who said it wasn’t dramatic.” Chris licks his lips, rubs at his beard. “Do I have honey in my beard? I feel like it’s sticky.”

Zach tries, he really does, he wants that known for the record, but he can’t help the laughter that bubbles up inside him. The look on Chris face does nothing to stop him, and Zach waves a hand in apology, curling in on himself as his sides start to ache.

“Really? That’s what does it? Saying my beard feels sticky?”

“I—I’m sorry,” Zach says, trying to take a breath to calm down. “I just—sticky.”

“Okay,” Chris says with a smile. “Now we’ve established you have the sense of humour of a teenage boy, it’s good to hear you laugh.” Chris lifts his coffee up to his mouth. “I missed it.”

It’s said so quietly that Zach doesn’t know if he was meant to hear it or not, but when Chris puts his coffee down, Zach reaches across the table and rubs a thumb against Chris’ beard, just under his mouth. Chris’ eyes focus on him, and Zach can hear the hitch in Chris’ breath as he moves his thumb across Chris’ cheeks before pressing his thumb against Chris’ bottom lip. “Not sticky,” he says softly as he removes his hand.

There’s a low hum from Chris as he watches Zach from half lidded eyes. “You probably shouldn’t have done that,” he says slowly, the corners of his mouth curling up almost imperceptibly. “Are you finishing your food?”

“Stealing off my plate, Pine?” Zach asks, even as he pushes it towards Chris.

“It’s not stealing if you hand it over.”

“Are we still talking about food?”

“You tell me,” Chris says, swirling a piece of french toast in the maple syrup on the plate. “I am.”

Zach picks up his glass of water and takes a sip, watching Chris finish off the food. There’s always been something dangerously decadent about watching Chris eat; Zach’s never been entirely clear on what it is that makes him enjoy it so much, but it leaves Zach feeling immensely satisfied to watch Chris enjoying his food with such pleasure. He waits, watching as Chris practically licks the plate clean. “You done?”

“Impatient?”

“Just get your bags, Christopher.”

Chris cackles, his eyes bright with amusement as he stands up. Running his tongue down his fingers, he grins when he catches Zach looking. “Meet you in the lobby,” he says as he walks off.

“Jesus,” Zach mutters under his breath as he hands his card over to the waiter and waits to sign the slip. “I am not making smart decisions.”

Chris is where he said he’d be, waiting in the lobby, bags by his feet. There’s photographers outside and Zach slips his sunglasses on, half smiling as Chris does the same, with the addition of a Dodgers cap. Flicking the brim, he grabs one of Chris’ bags. “You know you’re in New York, right?”

“Fuck off,” Chris says evenly. “I asked them to call a car to take us back.”

“Okay.” Sticking his hands in his pockets to stop himself from touching Chris, Zach tries to ignore the clacking noise of the photographers that comes through each time the doors are opened. “How is this interesting to anyone? We’re just standing here.”

“I could make it more interesting.”

“Please don’t.”

The car comes quicker than Zach thought it would, and they face the photographers, heads down until they’re in the back seat, staring out at them behind blackened glass. It always makes Zach feel like an idiot, but right now he’s more grateful for it than he’s ever been before. Chris gives the driver Zach’s address and they leave the photographers behind.

*

“I need to call Miles,” Zach says as soon as they get inside. “Those photos will be out soon, and he—I can’t leave it any longer.”

“Okay,” Chris says, sitting on the floor and rubbing Rocco’s head. “Do you know what you’re going to say?”

Zach shrugs helplessly. “I really don’t,” he sighs, pulling his phone out. “But I told him I’d call, and we need to talk. I’ll, uh, be in the bedroom.”

Chris’ face is painfully understanding, and Zach wants nothing more than to just slump on the couch with him, but instead he heads towards the bedroom, a sliver of guilt when he sees the rumpled sheets from the morning. He can hear Chris moving around the kitchen, getting something out of the fridge, and it’s a comfort to hear the sounds of someone else here, even more of a comfort to know it’s Chris. “Pull your shit together, Quinto,” he mumbles, sitting on the edge of the bed and tapping Miles’ name on his screen.

“Hi,” he says when Miles picks up. “Can you talk?”

*

When the call is over, Zach doesn’t move from the bed; he turns onto his side and curls up, staring at the empty half of his bed, wanting to close his eyes and sleep, but it feels like too much effort. He thinks it should hurt more than it does, and he feels guilty because of that. Not that it doesn’t hurt, it does, he’s lost the person he’s spent the last four years with, but—he’ll get through it. Zach feels like complete shit for even thinking it, but something in him knows that as much as it’s hurting, he’ll be okay.

Time passes, he’s not sure how much, it’s still light outside but that doesn’t mean anything in summer. There’s noises outside his bedroom door, and Zach assumes it’s Chris, but doesn’t make a move to check. Somewhere within his fugue state, his phone rings and he squints at the screen wondering what he’s done that would warrant her attention.

“What?” is how he answers the call, in no mood to be nice.

“Why are there photos of you rubbing Chris’ face at his hotel?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Zach groans, rolling onto his back and off the bed. Opening the door, he walks through the hall trying to find Chris. Predictably, he’s on the couch, stretched out with a book in his hands, the dogs slumped over his legs. “Hold on,” he says down the line before waving a hand in front of Chris’ face. “Have you looked at your phone?” he asks Chris.

“I’m reading.”

“Yes, genius, I can see that, I’ve got Brooke on the phone, someone took photos of us at breakfast. Check your phone.”

If it weren’t for the circumstances, it would almost be amusing watching Chris apologise to the dogs for disturbing them and looking around for his phone before spotting it on a bookshelf. “Where are the photos?” Zach asks. “Who has them?”

“They’re not professional,” Brooke says. “My guess is someone at the hotel saw you both and snapped a few shots.”

“Fuck smartphones,” Zach says, rolling his eyes when Chris fistpumps in response to that comment. Which, really? Fistpumping? Sometimes Zach doesn’t know why he tolerates Chris.

“What do you want me to do?” Brooke asks as Zach watches Chris call his own publicist. “Ignore it?”

“Thanks for not asking if I’m cheating on Miles,” Zach says. “We broke up, by the way. Ignore it until we—fuck, I don’t know.” Chris’ hand lands on his shoulder, a comforting weight that Zach leans into. “I’m coming back to LA in a few days, don’t say anything.”

“Okay. And Zach?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry about Miles.”

“Thanks.” Hanging up, Zach closes his eyes and listens to Chris end his phone call. “What aspiring model are you going to be photographed with now?” he asks, trying not to let bitterness seep into his voice. He fails.

“Hey,” Chris says, squeezing Zach’s shoulder. “It’s not going to be like that this time. Trust me?”

Zach opens his eyes and turns around; Chris’ hand drops from his shoulder and Zach instantly misses it. “That was shitty of me.”

“Yeah, well, we’re both assholes,” Chris says with a wink. “When are we going back to LA?”

“We?”

“Yes, Zachary. We.”

The easy way Chris says that word makes something inside Zach break, and before he’s aware of what he’s doing, his hands are cupping Chris’ face and he’s leaning in. Zach’s heart is in his throat as he kisses Chris, a soft, simple kiss that he hopes says everything that he’s lost the words to express verbally. It must work because Chris’ hands are gripping Zach’s wrists, kissing back, and Zach takes that final step and falls into it completely, letting go of everything he’s had boxed up in his chest over the past few days, months, years.

“Jesus, Zach,” Chris mutters against Zach’s mouth. “If all it took was—”

“Do you really need to question this right now?” Zach asks, leaning back to look Chris in the eyes.

“I’ve never questioned anything about us,” Chris says, a serious edge in his eyes that Zach’s only seen on very few occasions. “Whatever else, you gotta know that.”

“I do,” Zach says, stroking his thumb across Chris’ cheek. “I do.” Dropping his hands from Chris’ face, Zach runs his fingers over Chris’ shoulders, not wanting to stop touching him, wanting to take him into the bedroom and reacquaint himself with every inch of Chris body.

“What now?” Chris asks, resting his hands on Zach’s hips, fingers sliding underneath Zach’s t-shirt. He leans in, mouth brushing against Zach’s neck and just the barest touch of Chris’ mouth on his skin makes a shiver run down Zach’s spine. “I mean,” Chris carries on. “I know what I want to do, but—”

“ _Fuck_ —” Zach bites out as one of Chris’ hands reach down and cups his cock. “Chris, please, I—”

Withdrawing his hand, Chris fixes him with a wicked grin and pushes him gently towards the couch. “Take your pants off,” he says. “I’m gonna be the asshole locking your dogs in the bedroom.” He claps his hands and both the dogs jump to attention, following him, which leaves Zach to wonder when the hell Chris brainwashed his dogs.

By the time Chris comes back in the room, Zach’s naked, hand wrapped around his dick, and absolutely desperate to get his hands on Chris. “You’ve still got clothes on,” Zach says. “How about you get rid of those?” The words are barely out of his mouth before Chris is stripping, dropping his clothes as he walks closer to Zach.

“Hi,” Chris says quietly as he climbs onto Zach’s lap, leaning down and catching Zach’s mouth in a sloppy kiss that speaks to exactly how on edge both of them are right now. Zach’s hands slide down Chris’ back, trailing over the muscles before he grabs Chris’ ass, urging him closer until their cocks come into contact.

Gasping against Chris’ mouth at the feel of Chris against him for the first time in so long, Zach reaches down with one hand and runs the tips of his fingers along Chris’ length, laughing when Chris swears loudly. “Box on the table,” Zach says, licking a stripe down Chris’ neck. “Lube.”

“You couldn’t have said that before I got on your lap?” Chris whines, looking over his shoulder.

“Put your abs to good use,” Zach says, smacking Chris’ stomach. “Core strength, Christopher.” Holding on to Chris’ hips, Zach grins as Chris reaches for the box, fingers scrabbling at the lid, pushing it off and grabbing one of the packets in there. It lands on Zach’s chest and he laughs, pulling Chris back upright. “Good work,” he says, hand cupping the back of Chris’ neck and kissing him, revelling in the way Chris sinks right back into him.

When they part, Zach grabs the sachet and tears it open. Hand slicked up, Zach grasps Chris’ cock in his hand and strokes firmly, watching the way Chris’ eyes flutter, eyelashes casting shadows on his skin. “Cheat,” Chris breathes out as Zach touches him. “Cheater, you cheated.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zach says, pressing kisses against Chris’ shoulder, only just stopping himself from reverting completely to his teenage years and leaving a mark there. “Sachet’s not empty,” he says, scraping his teeth along Chris’ skin.

Chris’ hands absently pat down Zach’s chest until he finds the open lube sachet, and then it’s only a matter of seconds until his hot, slick hand is wrapped around Zach’s cock. Zach doesn’t know if Chris’ memory is that damn good, or if he’s skirting the edge of orgasm so quickly because it’s Chris touching him. All Zach knows is Chris; Chris’ cock in his hand, Chris’ hand around his cock, Chris’ mouth seeking his out over and over again. The world could come crumbling down around them and Zach wouldn’t notice.

Zach recalls everything he used to use to get Chris off back when it was quick handjobs in between interviews, when speed was more essential than taking their time, and he swears that in the near future he’s going to spread Chris out and keep him on edge, but all he wants in this moment is for Chris to come. “Come on,” he says against Chris’ shoulder, tongue swiping along the sweaty skin as he speeds his hand up on Chris’ cock. “Chris, _please_.” He’s never going to know if it was that which sent Chris over the edge, or if Chris was already there, but Zach feels like cheering at the feel of Chris’ cock pulsing in his hand.

“I can feel your damn smugness,” Chris says, humour in his eyes when he looks at Zach, breathing heavily.

“Uh huh,” Zach says, pressing a soft kiss against Chris’ cheek. “Get your hand back around my cock.”

Chris laughs, but does what Zach says, and Zach was so goddamn close before that it doesn’t take much of anything to get him back there; Chris’ mouth is sloppy against his, and the thought of how fucking swollen and abused both of their mouths are going to look after this, how they’re going to look like they belong to each other, is what makes Zach finally come.

Breathing heavily, Zach exchanges kisses with Chris, both of them slowly coming down from the high, touches becoming more gentle, less frantic. “I didn’t come here for this,” Chris says, eventually, staring at Zach, eyes as blue as Zach as ever seen them. “I’m not—I’m so fucking happy it happened, but it wasn’t my intention.”

“I know,” Zach says, hand curling around Chris’ hip and holding on tightly. “Chris, this was—” Zach breaks off and shakes his head. “We were always kind of inevitable.”

The sweet kiss Chris gives him is the only response Zach gets.

*

When they fly back to LA with the dogs, there are paparazzi waiting for them at LAX. Sunglasses on, Zach looks over at Chris. “How do you want to do this?” he asks, holding Rocco’s leash in one hand.

There’s no answer from Chris, he just takes Zach’s free hand and tangles their fingers together. Ducking his head to hide a smile, Zach lets Chris lead the way through the scrum; the dogs keeping the photographers from getting too close as they fire questions at them that neither of them give answers to.

The car is waiting for them and when they get in the back seat, Chris leans over and kisses Zach firmly. “Welcome home,” he says, before turning and flipping off the paparazzi through the window as they’re driven away.

Zach can’t think of a better way to come back to LA.


End file.
